Page 72 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

“So, you’ll stay all night?” Ingrid choked on the words. There had been no change in the Prince’s demeanor, nothing to indicate something more sinister in his intentions, but he’d been so unreadable from the start. It could’ve meant anything.

“You said you didn’t want a cell,” Sylan said finally. “So I’m giving you the alternative.”

A rancid taste filled Ingrid’s mouth. Given the choice between a cold prison and this arrogant display, she’d choose prison. “So you are. You’re going to watch me all night? In here?” she asked.

“In a way,” Sylan said.

“Stop doing that!” Ingrid felt herself getting angry again, the heat in her body spreading. “Enough. How many times do I have to swear to it? I only care about my friends. There isn’t anywhere else I want to be. Please, leave.”

“I will.” Sylan rested his hands on his head, then leaned backward, balancing the chair on its back legs and throwing his feet onto the wooden tabletop. “Eventually.”

She felt a dire need to avert her eyes from him again, looking instead at her feet and then at her elaborate gown.

She’d almost forgotten she was wearing it.

It felt like days ago that she’d been dressed and washed and made up for the party.

Back when she still thought she had a prayer of leaving the Isles with her friends unharmed.

Nervously, she reached inside her dress and clutched at her father’s viseer stone necklace. She twirled it between her fingers, trying to level her breath.

“Interesting piece of jewelry,” Sylan said.

“It was my father’s.”

“Was it?”

Ingrid held in a scream. It was like the prince was purposely throwing her words back at her, tempting her to react poorly.

But just as she was about to subtly mock him for it, he showed a rare moment of vulnerability.

“I meant…” His voice still rumbled in that low, gravelly growl, but his eyes had changed, gone softer. “Well, I don’t know what I meant, exactly. I struggle with what to say in these situations. Most Viator I meet, they aren’t very talkative.”

“That’s telling,” Ingrid said under her breath.

“Suppose it is. Pity, too. I miss conversation. Even the mundane ones.”

Ingrid nearly laughed. The thought of him being offended by Viator not wanting to socialize with him was ludicrous. As if he were completely unaware of why everyone he met was terrified of him.

A tickle crept up her throat, though she kept her tone neutral. “I don’t think your social skills are the problem, General.”

“Oh.” A hollow thud rang out as the legs of the chair dropped back down to the ground. “Do you mean that you enjoy talking to me?”

“No,” Ingrid blurted. “I meant that, if you wanted to make friends, maybe you should stop killing so many people. Or threatening to kill so many people. Puts up a sort of wall, you know?”

“Right,” Sylan was unbothered as ever. “Understood. I’ll fetch your lady’s maids, then.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Yes,” she said tersely. A jolt of relief struck her, but it was quickly followed by confusion as she watched Sylan move toward the door.

Among the rich brown and lush greens of the décor, he once again looked like a black stain in comparison.

He was a horror story parents told their children.

A war legend before he even reached the age of eighteen.

But here he was, walking, talking, and existing like the rest of them.

The fact that he was alone, too, made the scene all the stranger.

None of his pets from their first meeting were present.

He travelled with no retinue of guards or soldiers.

It could’ve been a simple matter of timing, maybe he’d left in a hurry, had to go at it alone, or maybe he was trying to prove something to his king after losing her the first time. But, still, it struck her as odd.

“Why are you—” Ingrid started to ask him about it, but quickly stopped herself. She hadn’t even fully formed the question before opening her mouth, let alone think about what annoyingly terse answer her question would elicit from him.

“Yes?” Sylan asked.

“Nothing. I’d like to be alone now, please.”

Sylan bowed. “Then this is farewell.” He stood. “I will be back at sunrise to take you to the arena. Goodnight, Ingrid.”

He was at the door in just two long strides.

With that, he was gone.

And the moment the door closed—the very second Ingrid found herself alone—the weight of it all caved in on her at once.

Sitting in this silence, without her friends, without a home, without anything to distract her, she felt more isolated than she’d ever been before.

All the years of torment combined could not measure up to the mountain of grief, despair, and anger piling onto her now.

She saw the events that led her here like a ghastly slideshow before her eyes. She saw the very first message she received. She saw the portal room. Saw Franky. Saw Dean hunched over her bar. And again, she saw Callinora’s burns, heard her screams, her inhuman screeching.

The ground felt shaky beneath her. She wanted to crumble to the floor. Wanted to scream. Wanted to howl and feel the burn in her throat. Feel something, anything but this. But she couldn’t. After all they’d survived, all she’d done in just a few weeks, and then to give up—it wasn’t in her.

The prospect of revenge kept her upright and focused.

She had one last shot in the suffocating dark to rid herself of Sylan, to somehow make it to her friends before they were tossed to the beasts of the arena.

And she would have to do it all by herself.

In her utter ignorance, so fresh and untrained, she’d have to save them.

Somehow, she’d have to be the hero Dean believed her to be.

As if in answer to her realization, a knock rapped at her door.

And another.

Then another. Not stopping until Ingrid whipped the door open so violently that it sent a gust of wind at the two females on the other side.

“Evening, my lady.